I Don't Know Anymore
by MotherofDealWithIt
Summary: Goals by those blinded with their thousand layers grief causing poor choices that the divinity prevents with wounds to heal and souls to care. WARNING: Rating and genres may change to accurately describe totaled content upon the addition of later chapters. Rule 63 (Genderstuck) applied.
1. Broken Monotony to One's Surprise

In a suburban neighborhood where the surroundings screamed monotony, where the sun continued to bleach already stark white houses, where the birds chirped their cacophonous mess and where the citizens that resided in the man-made living spaces enjoyed well off and generally peaceful lives.

In a suburban neighborhood where the surroundings were in perfect place, where the sun was in perfect position, where the houses were as white as they always were and always would be, where the birds were harmonized as usual, where the citizens lived happily where the man-made structures let them.

And where one, just one, was out of place.

She was a strange one. Eyes were her blood, skin was the houses, cloth adorned was her blood all over again and her hair, like her skin, was the houses. White, red, white once more and red again.

Speaking over her skin, it showed through slits, through gaps once knit. Red, bodily fluid stained the maimed as she walked, her target inaccurately aimed on a door, for sure, for the good, loving sake of the poor, she hoped her target lived beyond that door. To settle a score she tried to settle before and before and was willing to try once more, she prayed aloud through a broken breath that her target was indeed in that dwelling, behind that door.

And once again, to settle the score she tried to settle before and before by going, as you might have guessed, before and before. The first time, and then some, and once more.

Teetering and tottering like an inebriated whore, she stumbled, tripped, rose and fell back on the grass floor. The grass floor leading to the desired door, holding the desired target which she hoped to terminate to settle the score. Well, more terminate what she thought would settle a score.

But enough about the score and more about her reaching the door, or so she tried, the woman stumbling and mumbling in a fashion similar to that of the frowned upon trade of the whore.

Passing by the mailbox, the tire swing and a contraption of pain for children, and as their tormentee for many years would it psychologically reign. She reached the door, every nerve cell pulling their own personal alarms and every muscle throbbing in pain. The young woman whose form was near maimed had finally found her place and stood afront a white door in white frame, a bloody print now staining the door bell she harshly pressed her palm against hoping her target came and through the jester littered house it rang, rang and rang it's sound: _pang_, the ring of the strange as strange as the girl who commanded with her sange sullied hand, and as commanded it rang, the sound serving as a young boy's bane, the boy, her target but before he could answer the door, her resistance, it waned, she gave in to the pain. Half sword, many it had slain, fallen to the floor as if metal squares would rain, and for such a surprise, this young boy did in no way fain, her body collapsed, collided and crashed upon the ground.

On the warm, dewy grass.

On the cold, granite grain.


	2. Finding the Suprise

TT: Summarizing from what I've gathered thus far, you filibustered a point previously made by the callous 'Rhett' from your mathematics class, shifting the subject from insults to young, amiable felines using butchered grammar in the celestial rift who could, in no realistic way, survive in such conditions and you were successful with this.  
EB: okay, seriously rose.  
EB: i mean no offense by this but i don't know why i talk you about my life.  
EB: seriously, the same thing happens.  
EB: i distribute the simple way and you just convert it to some shakesprearean crap.  
EB: i'm even starting to use your words now.  
TT: I own none of the language I use to communicate, John.  
EB: meh.  
TT: And you wished for me to communicate with you in Shakespearean English?  
TT: I am fully capable of doing so.  
EB: oh god no.  
EB: forget it.  
EB: just forget it.  
TT: Will do.  
TT: John.  
EB: yes?  
TT: I must say, I am also a bit concerned about why you repeatedly choose me out of your three available chums to process your daily events.  
TT: I find comfort in informing myself that you enjoy learning and utilizing the new vocabulary to vex others.

_yeah let's go w_

Mid reply, his sarcasm was cut short which, when thinking of how it was cut short, he realized how Rose would and had cut him short several times for his attempts and obvious fails at being snarky. Due to this revelation, he deleted this reply.

What had interrupted him? The doorbell. Very high pitched, very irritating. More to the sense of hearing than most anything else. Well, everything else aside from knowing that a contraption that makes such a sound exists and that it is subject to go off at any given time for a variety of reasons, none of which were under John Egbert's control.

EB: hey rose, i think i'll be leaving now.  
EB: someone's at the door.  
TT: Goodbye, John.  
-ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 15:53-

Now, usually Egbert would pause for a moment and listen out for what happened at the door as his father answered, but at the time, John was home so he had to answer it himself.

Poor boy, bound at least once a day to face what he was convinced was one of the devil's toys. Out of his room, down the hallways and stairs past the most despised harlequins, he went with a zoom, hoping not to knock over his Nanna's ashes for the fact that remnants of her would be stolen and forever trapped in the prickly straw mess end of the broom. Little did he know, the one behind the door had narrowly escaped doom, he would've immediately called the ER.

Or for the sake of keeping the rhyme scheme going, the emergency room.

Upon the opening the door, thus broadening his sight, the young man was put into a bit of a fright, not only the sun but the caked crimson was, as well, bright. Such shade and tints that may haunt his dreams tonight.

The young woman that stumbled to his door, giving in to her aching body and fell to the floor, whose crimson stains had show so bright they could quite possibly be visible in the night caused a young azure eyed boy to squeal at this haunting, unsettling hand the Sisters of the Fate thought it would be fitting to deal.

But wait.

Just wait.

The tricksters fear swiftly faded, for the doorbell that he once hated had brought him what?

Was it possibly...?

A gift?

John's father had always urged him to get a girlfriend, especially in this season of summer what with the multitude of leisurely time he had to spend, but never imagined this was how far his old man would bend, dropping him off a battered young lady in unearthly trend.

Myriad thoughts, racing, spinning and buzzing in his head. Alive or dead, alive or dead. What should he do? Injured girls coming out of the blue, never had he thought this would happen once in the rare occasion of a blue moon, but shouldn't she get medical attention as soon as well...SOON?

It was about 5 minutes of Egbert standing there and staring. Had this been a conscious person, through his flesh would be burnt holes from a rather intense glaring, he fell to his knees, the resounding bass in his ears via heartbeat blaring, he brush his knuckles against the woman's cheek, the body temperature absolutely flaring through the roof. Take to the skies. Science would never predict that the human body alone could reach such highs. Pulling back abruptly, he felt something in his abdomen. Something he would thing is closely associated with the fabled tummy butterflies. Which...at this mangled body gave him a surprise.

He was neither a homosexual, nor a necrophiliac or a sadist either, but alas he finally took some action taking the muliebris upper torso into his arms. The upper torso of the girl who seemed to have a tremendous fever. Wrapping an arm around her back and under her knees, he was a bit shaky seeing as he hasn't lifted in a while. He had to admit, possibly the most lifting he'd ever done in his life was in his mobility transformation as he lifted himself up from crawling infant, to small walking child.

Just missing the vase containing his Nanna's ashes, he set the young woman on the couch before the hearth, looking and hoping for materials for makeshift bandages, namely sashes. But why would a house with nothing but males residing in it have sashes? But none the less, he needed something to cover these gashes. But the real question was how to take care of it properly so that the area around the gapes wouldn't be consumed in rashes.

Pondering once, pondering twice, pondering who the hell came up with ri- No, seriously, who the hell DID come up with rice?

Anyways.

A light turned on, Egbert had picked up the phone and pressed upon it thrice, each time a beep going off which opposed to the hellish doorbell did indeed sound quite nice though he still hoped in a way much similar to the harlequins that it faced its end in the midst of an uncalled for heist.

"911, what is you emergency?"

"Um, yeah, hi. I'm John Egbert and..."


End file.
